Just when I’m about to abandon all sense of propriety and slouch over the length of my seat, our compartment door slides open. I stiffen, expecting William has come to bother us from next door…only it’s neither of my male traveling companions.
It’s Jolene.
“I’m so glad I was able to procure a ticket in time,” she says, catching her breath as she drops herself into the seat across from me, beside Daphne. The pine marten, not wanting to share her seat, leaps into the luggage rack overhead. She casts Jolenean irritated glance—one the woman is fully oblivious to—before curling up in a furry ball.
“I didn’t know you were coming with us.” I resist the urge to more bluntly ask why she’s here. My mind conjures images of her hanging off William’s arm last night. Did they become…intimately acquainted? Just because he awoke in my bedroom doesn’t mean he didn’t have time forcertain activitiesbefore he got there. I’m still not sure how my evening concluded or how William ended up in my room. Not all memories have returned to me. Still, I’m not unhappy to see Jolene.
“Oh, I didn’t know either until an hour ago,” she says. “But I was able to secure leave from my duties at the modiste for a few days, so I figured I might as well join you for your next signing. Mr. Phillips already said it’s fine, as long as I room with you and pay for my train ticket, drinks, and meals. I can’t wait to have you sign my copy ofThe Governess and the Fae.”
Bless her heart, she knows her way into my good graces. I reach into my carpet bag on the seat beside me, extracting my pen and ink. “I could sign it for you now?—”
“No,” she blurts out. She recovers from her outburst with a smile. “No need. I want to have it signed at the event. Otherwise, what reason do I have to follow you around? Besides, I haven’t purchased Mr. Haywood’s poetry book either.”
She purses her lips but it doesn’t hide her coy smile. It’s not so much me she’s here for but William. Some smug part of me is gratified that she still refers to him by his surname, at least. But all arrogance drains as I acknowledge what a pretty girl she is. She’s dressed in a pale blue skirt and a white blouse with lace gloves adorning her hands. Her golden hair is neatly curled in an updo beneath a dainty hat. She looks so prim and proper without the bright cheeks and loose messy hair from last night.
Heavens, what didIlook like last night? The countless minutes it took me to brush through my hair this morningwasn’t promising. At least I managed to clean up well enough, even in my rush out the door. I opted for a low chignon, so as not to aggravate the pounding headache that has come and gone throughout the day, as well as an ensemble I can get away with wearing without a corset. It’s a tartan skirt and matching jacket, the bodice stiff enough to give shape without more structured undergarments, yet roomy enough to allow me to breathe.
The train rolls into motion, slowly at first as it leaves the platform, then gaining speed as it moves along the outskirts of Floating Hope.
Jolene’s sigh draws my attention back to her. “I wish I’d have gotten to know Mr. Haywood better last night,” she says, a wistful lilt to her words.
“Oh?” I try not to appear too interested as I extract my notebook from my bag. I already have my pen and ink out, so I might as well jot down some story ideas if inspiration strikes me. “Did you not grow as acquainted as you’d hoped?”
Her lips pull into a pout. “Not at all. Well, he did tell me about June.”
“June?”
“The great love of his life whom he gave his heart to but lost. She’s who all his poems are about. At least, that’s everyone’s theory. He didn’t exactly confirm it, but he shared a story about the heartache that plagues him to this day.” She presses a palm to her chest, a dreamy look on her face. “That felt more intimate than a single night of physical passion could.”
A twinge of discomfort pinches my chest. I don’t know anything about this great love of William’s life. But why should I? It’s not like we’re friends. We’re barely acquaintances.
“Still,” she says, and the wistfulness leaves her tone, “I would have taken passion, had he offered it. I thought for sure he’d choose me to fulfill the bet with.”
I keep my voice nonchalant as I ask, “Did he fulfill the bet with anyone?”
“Not that I know of. By the time he ran after you, it was already a quarter to midnight.”
My notebook tumbles from my hands to my lap. I smooth it out over my skirt and pretend I dropped it on purpose. “What do you mean he ran after me?”
“When that lecherous lion tried to walk you back to your room. Don’t tell me you were too drunk to remember anything from last night. You seemed so clear of mind.”
I frown, vague snatches of memory fighting to become sharper.
“Whatever the case,” Jolene says, “Mr. Haywood didn’t return after he left to find you, but a fae male slunk into the dining room looking scared out of his wits. By then, Mr. Phillips had come in from outside. Arwen and I apprised him of the situation. He halted the lion before he could leave and told him he needed to have a chat with him in the alley. When he returned, his knuckles were wrapped in his cravat.”
My eyes go wide. Is she suggesting Monty scuffled with a male who’d tried to take advantage of me?
“Don’t give Monty all the credit,” Daphne says from the luggage rack. “I bit the bastard’s ankles.” She sounds way too pleased about that.
But talk of Monty sharpens something in my mind. I remember! He rescued me. He…he…
No. It wasn’t Monty who came to my rescue.
It was William.
More and more memories unfold until I’m mortified all over again. William lifting me in his arms. Me shoving my room key against his cheek. Him helping me drink from a glass of water. That’s not all. Conversations I’d be better off forgetting echo in my mind.
I don’t have a spectacular sex life.
